Meditations
by Cheshiremask
Summary: It is thought that dictates action, and sometimes thought that defines it. A man who has no need to explain himself to others must still speak to himself.


I found a baby today.

Down by the riverside, as I walked with my disciples in tow, I heard a voice, insistent and piercing. Having never been one to turn away from the promptings of the Buddha, I sought to perceive the origin of this voice, and I was gifted with the perception of its source…a reed basket, bobbing along the river's face.

In the basket – as I found once I had first waded, then swam into the river's embrace – was a child, barely more than a few months of age. I carried him back to shore and I perceived that it was his voice that I had heard calling to me, as the sound ceased as soon as my hand touched the basket which bore him. His tiny hand reached out to touch my own as my fingers curled around the basket's lip, and I smiled though he slept without waking, a stoic child.

I was required to remind my disciples that it is no business of theirs to admonish a Sanzo priest about the state of his robes when they are only holy because it is _he _who wears them, and when they fell silent at last, I named the child Kouryuu, to give him strength, and to thank the river that brought him to me that I may teach him, and learn from him.

******

I had forgotten what it is like to care for children.

Kouryuu is not the kind of child to cry. He fusses, of course, as all small things are wont to do from time to time, but he is always willing to listen to a well-formed argument. If the others of the temple find it strange for a grown man to bargain and converse with a child not yet out of his swaddling clothes, they say nothing, as they ought. Kouryuu is constantly in my care, for he does not take kindly to the other monks who wish to curry favor by 'relieving' me of the burden of childrearing. They do not seem to understand – for all of Kouryuu's unfailing teachings – that a child is not a thing to be shaped by hands other than those of acceptance and temperance. A sculptor does not force his stone into the shape of his subject; he merely allows his subject's form to emerge from within the stone, as a figure emerges from the fog that obscures it. I do not seek to impose my own will on Kouryuu, but to provide for him that he may emerge as a whole being himself, governed by his own mind and strong enough to choose the right path, though it is not always the easiest to follow.

I see in his violet eyes a will that cannot be broken and I am proud to call him my student, even though there are those amongst us who see him as too young to learn.

******

I had forgotten how quickly children grow.

Kouryuu is not the kind of child to be swayed by the opinions of others. He makes me proud day by day by remaining a diligent student. He has always been bright, and I see to it – to the best of my abilities – to make sure that his intellect is not wasted. I know that I puzzle him with some of my ways and words, but I know that someday he will come, if not to understand, than to comprehend in his own way.

Shuuei and I teach him all that we can. We are, it seems, his only friends, but I know that he will be fine. He is strong. Strong enough to let the words of the others slip by him like the rainwater that pours down the mountain's slopes. They leave their marks, of course, but he is strong enough to thrive regardless, an unbending rock of self-assurance. I do all I can to make sure the core of him always has acceptance, to let him know that regardless, he is my disciple, as worthy or more so of the title as any other within the temple walls.

I have been told that I allow him too much free reign. That I afford him too many allowances. That a child found in a basket flowing downstream should not be granted so much favor. In return I say only that a caterpillar gives no indication that it will become a butterfly and leave them to ponder on their words and mine.

I am a Sanzo priest, ordained by my predecessor and granted all the power that goes along with the title.

******

I saw a brother die today, and a brother born, and I do not regret it.

He called out to me, a voice all too concrete, and he passed the test, casting aside his old name for the one that I gave him. Ukoku. The crow's cry. It would seem that I am ordained to name those with great potential.

He will be the only Sanzo who will never be marked with a chakra. Already I can see this much. He will be a man of great strength, though it will be the strength of men, and not the Gods. He is a Holy, unholy man and I will watch him because he called out to me. I will take his hand and show him what he should be shown, and I will let his inner self arise from the turmoil all around him.

I do not seek to mould men, merely to allow their shapes to reveal themselves.

******

It is a greedy crow that flies too close to the sun. He tells me so himself and I smile, and nod, and say that all things that reach too far to touch the sun will find themselves with more than they had bargained for.

He pours more sake and smiles a little wider, the light from the full moon above us glinting off of his glasses. I refrain from commenting on the way he looks in the moonlight. I know such things would be waved off as inconsequential. Ukoku is a man who sees many things as inconsequential. He fascinates me, in his own way, just as I do him.

He reaches out to touch a strand of my hair, holding it between his thumb and forefinger as though it is nothing more than thread to be considered before a purchase. I feel I know some of his intention and I do not judge. My hair is no holier than my robes, merely an extension of myself, which is no holier than the earth upon which we walk, and at the same time no less holy.

He speaks of the selfish crow, who would wish to fly so close to the sun to block its view from earth with outspread wings. Those fingers which began with my hair move on to touch my shoulder, the rice paper of my Sutra shifting under his deft fingers. Always looking for a reaction, that crow. Always looking for something that cannot be granted. Rather than make issue of that wandering touch that finds its way to my jaw, then my cheek, I tell him that a crow would be foolish to try such a thing, for he would, by no fault of the sun, be burned to ash were he to fly so very close. He finds no resistance when he tilts my head and leans in to take a kiss I see no need to deny him. His voice is a mere whisper when he tells me that the creatures of the earth have had more foolish desires.

In the end he comes to me because he wants a place in my heart. I give him one, because I have room. I can tell when he leaves he is at once happier and displeased, for he knows that my heart has space within it for all things. I know that he feels cheapened by it just as he feels exalted.

I know that his truest wish is to take Kouryuu's place, and I am not cruel enough to tell him that there are no such divisions, nor so little space that one thing must be pushed aside in order to allow another in.

******

I had forgotten that this time would come. I admonish myself, for a moment, for having been so careless as to become so entangled in life that I would lose sight of its end, but I forgive myself quickly. There is no need to dwell on the present.

I am so, so proud when I look into those violet eyes and watch Kouryuu grow again, unchanging but changed more profoundly than I have ever seen. Again, I am reminded that I have been blessed by Heaven to name those with great potential, and I thank the Buddha that I have lived to see the birth of Genjo Sanzo, the Thirty First of China. And with this passage I give him all that I have left to give. My only regret is that it was to be so soon, that this responsibility, this duty, must fall upon his shoulders now.

But I have taught him all that I know. I have watched him rise from the waters of uncertainty and grow, and become strong. Stronger, perhaps, than I had ever been.

He is a Sanzo priest, ordained by his predecessor and granted all the power that goes along with the title. He will not bend. He will not break. And he will be strong enough to face the hardships that are yet to come.

I am proud to have seen his birth.


End file.
